


Elven Temple Magic Made Them Do It

by kaijuburgers



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, I still can't believe I wrote this filth, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Oral Sex, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29582046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuburgers/pseuds/kaijuburgers
Summary: Listen, you know exactly what this is from the title and tags.
Relationships: Male Adaar/Lace Harding/The Iron Bull
Comments: 6
Kudos: 4
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	Elven Temple Magic Made Them Do It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/gifts).



The last thing Lace remembered thinking before it all happened was ‘ _we should have been more careful_ ’.

It was true. Later, when the three of them returned to Skyhold for a debriefing and she could think clearly again, she’d wonder why they didn’t take more precautions. It was common knowlege that the Arbor Wilds was full of strange, ancient, untamed magic, after all. And magic like that was—beyond anything else—dangerous. If the party had just been her and a handful of other scouts, Lace would have understood. Sending a Templar with them—in case there were need to neutralise ancient magic—would have been an unjustifiable use of the Inquisition’s resources. But Adaar was there. Kost Adaar, the Herald of Andraste; the leader of the Inquisition’s forces; a man much more important and worth of protection than her. Kost, with his soft tousled hair and his gentle smile, with his broad shoulders and his soft belly, with those eyelashes, long and dark and curled.

Kost, who was looking at her with a look of concern on his beautiful face.

“Scout Harding!” he called out, and his voice echoed through the high vaulted ceilings of the crumbling elvhen temple. A few steps ahead of him, The Iron Bull turned on his heels to look at her. “Are you alright?”

Lace wanted to give him a response, but it felt like her tongue was stuck in her mouth, too heavy to move. And she felt cold—like she had been left outside in mid-Wintermarch and her blood had frozen in her veins—all over, except from the warmth that was started to spread through her body from the hand she was holding the statuette with. 

_The statuette._ It had looked so benign when she had first seen it. It had been caked in a little soil and dust—as was to be expected from a temple that had laid abandoned for so many Ages—but she’d seen a glimpse of the dark green stone that lay underneath. The form had been unfamiliar, some kind of animal that she’d never seen before, and it had been when she’d reached out to wipe the dust away that she’d made the mistake of touching it.

The warmth was almost unbearable. As Lace’s head felt hazier, she wanted to be touched—no, she _needed_ to be touched—so badly and desperately that she could have sobbed. Kost was by her side, his brow furrowed with worry, but all Lace could think about was how close he was to her. It would be so easy to brush her hand against his, and if Lace didn’t instinctively know that would only make this growing hunger in her worse, she would have. Instead, she just watched him, looked at the way his gentle lips curled into a frown, at the way a few stray white hairs fell into his face, at the way his hands looked—large and strong, leathery skin worn smooth from years of grasping a staff tightly. Lace had looked at Kost before, but never like this. She’d never felt worthy of it. Kost was an icon, the figurehead of armies, chosen by the Maker. And more than anything, he was _Bull’s_. She’d looked at him, but it had never felt like something she could have acted on. Until then.

Lace was looking as he reached out to touch the statuette in her hands, and she knew she should have said something to stop him. But she didn’t. Instead she watched it happen, witnessed the instant that his skin made contact with the stone and his eyes widened, and knew exactly what he felt. She knew that he would feel cold and then warm, and then unbearably hot. He let out a soft gasp, pulled his hand away from it, but it had already started. He looked down at her—something dark and heavy and hungry in his eyes as his gaze met hers—and she wanted to melt into him, to touch him until the desperate ache inside her was gone.

“Boss?” Lace knew that both she and Kost heard the voice, but neither reacted. They just stayed still for a moment longer, their breath heavy and skin flushed and eyes meeting. Bull walked towards the two of them—steps heavy on the stone floor—but she barely registered that either. It was only when his arm slipped between the two of them, reaching out just far enough to touch the statuette with a fingertip, that she really noticed he was there. Bull gasped—not the kind of gentle gasp that Kost had given out, but a gasp like his lungs were emptying of air—and Lace knew there was only one way that this was going to end.

When Bull kissed Kost—cupping his jaw with one hand and pulled him into it—all she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss Kost like that, and how much she wanted to be kissed like that too; open mouthed and hungry. Kost let out a low throaty moan and she couldn’t help but moan too. The mage noticed, thick eyelashes lifting from his cheek as he pulled away from Bull and turned his attention to her.

“Scout Harding,” he purred, leaning down towards her. He was so close, his skin radiating more heat than could possibly be natural, his smell—citrus and spiced like warm Saturnalia wine—so strong it made her head spin. She didn’t wait for him to continue—she _couldn’t_. Wrapping both hands around one of his horns she tugged, pulling him down low enough that her lips could meet his.

The kiss was everything Lace ever wanted it to be and more. She didn’t think much—in fact she wasn’t sure she had the capacity for much thought at all—but she felt her way through it, following the instincts of that dark insatiable hunger inside her that wanted to claw its way out of her body. Everything about him—his hands, his horns, his height—felt so _large_ compared to her, and _Maker_ if that didn’t send a white hot jolt of need right through her. When Kost slid his tongue into her mouth, one hand cupping her cheek and the other gently tugging on her hair, it was easy to forget that anything existed except where their bodies touched. It was only when they pulled apart for air—lips red and wet and swollen—that she realised how intensely Bull was looking at them both. He reached out, tracing her jaw with the tip of a finger. If Kost was large, Bull was even larger. When he touched her with those rough, strong, battle-worked hands, she wasn’t sure what she wanted more—to surrender to his touch or to press into it, rough and demanding. The two of them kissed less gently than she and Kost had—all teeth on lips, hands roughly pulling hair and horns—but she was more aware of the world around them. She knew that Kost was watching them, eyes wide and smouldering.

Whatever the statuette had done to them was intoxicating. So intoxicating that Lace was never really sure what the exact sequence of events that followed was, only that the three of them ended up lying in the temple atrium’s pool, wet clothes clinging to her body where there hadn’t been an attempt to pull them off. The fabric stuck to her skin, cold. But not as cold as Kost’s hands on her chest. There was magic on his fingertips—ice crystals forming and reforming so quickly they looked like a living being—and she shuddered at the touch. Where Kost’s touch was cold Bull’s was warm, and melted into his arms.

“Lace,” Kost’s words were stained, as if it were taking all his will to speak them aloud. “Is it ok if we…I mean can we… _shit_.” His face was flushed, the freckles on his cheeks covered by a haze of pink as he looked at her, hungry and helpless and wanting. Lace knew the three of them were past the point of negotiation and discussion—whatever that statuette was and whatever its magics were, it was too late to resist now—but he’d looked at her so kindly, with such care in his eyes that the words came out before she fully registered them.

“Yes,” she said. And then, “ _Please_.”

It was hard to know how much time passed between those words and when Bull and Kost guided her to all fours. It was hard to tell how much time passed at all, in fact. Later, Lace would only remember fragments of it all—Kost’s mouth on her neck and Bull’s hands on her tits; her scouting armor being half unbuckled and the fabric of her tabard being torn at the seams; Bull’s hands pulling on Kost’s hair as he kissed her. The next clear memory was the coldness of the temple floor on her hands and knees, Kost’s fingers slick and wet from some kind of magic when he finally pushed them inside her. Her breath had hitched when he’d started to circle them around her ass, and when he finally _, finally_ slid them into her—stretching her out and filling her up at the same time—it was like she was exhaling all that saved breath at once. Bull chuckled above her as she gasped, using the opportunity to slide a finger into her mouth between parted lips. _Maker_. Lace wanted the last of her clothes off so badly that it made her want to sob with frustration.

It seemed she wasn’t alone. Bull’s clothes were pulled down to his thighs when he removed the fingers from her mouth, the other hand holding the base of his cock as he eased it towards her mouth. He was thick—so thick that Lace wasn’t sure it’d fit at first—but she wanted to try anyway. Looking up, she met his gaze as he gripped the base of her hair and tightened his grip, slowly pushing the head into her mouth. And he looked as far gone as her and Kost, but there was still the hint of something menacing—in all the right ways—in how his eyes flickered over her body.

“Good girl.” His voice was so low that it was more like a growl, and between that and Kost twisting his fingers inside her—pressing at the sensitive spot inside her through the thin wall that separated her cunt and her ass— Lace took a sharp breath. _Maker, if that was just the head, what would it be like to take Bull to the base…_

Kost removed his fingers, pulling her from her thoughts, and Lace couldn’t help but whine at the sudden lost sensation. At least she couldn’t before he forced her to swallow the noise, cupping her ass in his hands, pulling the cheeks apart, and burying his face between them.

 _Oh_.

Iron Bull gave a low soft groan and Lace barely had time to register that it was absolutely not the noise she expected to hear from him before she realise what had caused that reaction—with her mouth around Bull’s cock, when she’d moaned he must have felt the movement of her lips and tongue around him. If it were possible for Lace to feel more flushed, she would have. She felt hot everywhere, and hotter still where the two qunari touched her. But she couldn’t stop touching them, couldn’t stop wanting them even more…

It took all Lace’s will to pull back from Bull—a little jolt of joy at both the ache of her jaw muscles and the way a little spit dribbled down from her mouth to her chin and then onto the temple floor.

“Please," she started, pitch far higher and headier than normal. "Fuck me. Both of you. Please”


End file.
